


bloody and raw (but I swear it is sweet)

by scribespirare



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Auto-Cannibalism, Bondage, Cannibalism, Dismemberment, Dissection, Everything about this is consensual, Fluff, Gore, Gratuitous Violence, Intersex Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Kinky Alastor, M/M, No Character Death, PIV Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexualized Gore, Tentacles, changeable genitalia, gore porn, idk if you can consider gore a kink but...its my universe so yes, yes its actually fluffy at the end idk how that happened either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribespirare/pseuds/scribespirare
Summary: Alastor may be asexual but he still has a few...carnalinterests.Please heed the tags!
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 235





	bloody and raw (but I swear it is sweet)

**Author's Note:**

> so ive been super nervous about posting this but im gonna finally bite the bullet. if im brave enough to post incest fic in this day and age i can post my weird gore porn too. 
> 
> this fic kinda runs off the idea that the only thing that can kill demons are angels, so nothing they do to each other actually sticks in the long run. i also threw in my h/c that Angel can change his genitalia at will so for all of this he has a vagina. 
> 
> pls lmk if there are additional tags that i should add!

“You ever think about doin’ that to me?”

Alastor’s head turns towards Angel slowly, his attention clearly being torn between the spider demon and the writhing mass of black tentacles currently kicking out a rather troublesome hotel guest. The guy screams as he’s chucked unceremoniously into the street where he’s promptly run over by an oncoming car. It pulls a chuckle out of Alastor.

“Throwing you into the path of harm?” he asks cheerfully. “All the time!”

“No, no,” Angel says, leaning back against the reception desk. His lower hands are crossed over his stomach and he’s holding a sucker in one of his upper hands that he gestures through the air with. “The tentacles. Pretty c’mon kink, you know.”

One of Alastor’s eye twitches and he closes his hand into a fist. The tentacles recede back into the portal they’d come through and the whole thing closes up with an audible _pop_. “That’s weird!”

“Hey, don’t kink shame,” Angel chides, popping his sucker back into his mouth. “I can’t be the first person to bring it up to you.”

“My dear, the people on the other end of my tentacles aren’t usually discussing their kinks,” Alastor says primly, bouncing up onto the toes of his boots. “In fact, they’re not usually talking at all, ha!” A tinny laugh track plays in time with his own laugh, and Angel rolls his eyes.

“Now _that’s_ weird,” he says, swirling the sucker from one side of his mouth to the other. “Yer tellin’ me you ain’t torn apart a single fucker who was into it?”

Alastor’s smile flags a little and his eyes narrow thoughtfully. After a moment he asks, almost tentatively if Angel didn’t know any better, “That’s a thing?”

Angel throws his head back with a laugh. “Oh, baby, you have no idea,” he promises lowly, curling his voice up into the pitch he knows makes Alastor uncomfortable. “Bein’ virtually immortal has a lot o’ perks, you know. Some people just really like the feelin’ of bein’ ripped apart. Your body just…” he sighs, throwing his head back dramatically, one hand cupping a breast and the other travelling down his thigh, “bein’ at someone else’s mercy while they tear you to pieces. Gets a guy wet.”

Alastor’s eyes actually fill with static and if the noise of it didn’t make Angel wince it’d be fuckin’ hilarious. Then he shakes his head, clearing it away. “Fascinating!” he says, clearly meaning anything but, and walks away before Angel can say anymore.

It sends Angel into a fit of giggles until Husk yells at him to shut the fuck up.

oOo

That was supposed to have been the end of the conversation. Angel loves teasing Alastor but he never expects it to go anywhere. Alastor has been very clear about what he thinks of Angel’s advances, which is just fine. Totally.

Except not ‘cause Angel’s got the biggest fuckin’ crush on this dude, something about his stupid smile and those sharp ass teeth, the power he wields so easily.

But Angel’s also pretty much accepted it ain’t gonna happen. He’s moving on. Really. If Alastor’s laugh occasionally makes his heart trip over itself, if his voice dropping octaves when he threatens someone makes Angel wet, well nobody needs to know that but him.

So imagine his surprise when Alastor swings by his bedroom at some ungodly hour of the night and shoves through the door before Angel has even finished opening it.

“Sure, let yourself in,” he says sardonically, hand on his hip. He’s dressed down for the evening, a fluffy bath robe tied loosely around his waist, breast fluff pushing out of the top, and a pair of panties underneath.

Alastor, of course, is impeccable as always in his suit. Angel isn’t sure he’s ever seen him in anything but. He thinks, perhaps, he might come on the spot just seeing Alastor in his shirtsleeves.

“Sorry to call on you so late,” Alastor greets, hands clasped behind his back and microphone nowhere in sight. There’s a faint twitch to his fingers, a tightness in his smile that makes Angel wary.

“Not like I was asleep,” Angel says slowly, eyeing the other demon. “Whadya want?”

There’s a brief silence where they just stare at each other before Alastor finally laughs nervously. “I was wondering if you might be able to assist me with something, my dear fellow.”

Now _this_ is getting interesting. Angel sits down on the edge of his bed, Alastor turning to follow him as he moves across the room to do so. He crosses one leg over the other, leaning back on one set of hands, the others playing idly with the tie of his robe. “Help with what?” he asks, trying not to sound hopeful and probably failing.

“Do you remember what you said to me this morning?”

Angel’s eyes narrow as he thinks, head cocking to the side. “The stuff about yer tentacles?”

“Yes!” Alastor says quickly, then pauses. “Well, no, after that.”

“Oh, you mean the gore shit?” Angel uncrosses his legs, thighs spreading a little. His fingers have loosened the belt on his rob just enough that it’s starting to come apart, revealing more of his breasts. But of course Alastor isn’t looking at that at all, his gaze ever so politely on Angel’s face. Fucker.

“Just so! What can you tell me about that particular, er, kink I suppose it would be called.”

Angel laughs, feeling a little breathless. Is this actually happening right now? Is this his chance finally presenting itself? “Yeah, it’s a kink alright,” he says, not bothering to hide how his voice has started to pitch up a little. “Whadya wanna know? It’s easy to fall into down here. You start with the normal BDSM shit, bein’ tied up, whipped, caned, the lot, then one day…someone hits a little too hard. Breaks yer spine. But it feels just like any other bruise or cut so you go with it. Next thing you know your guts’re spillin’ out everywhere and you got three dude’s dicks buried in yer intestines while you’re comin’ yer brains out despite the fact that you can’t even feel yer own cunt.”

Angel’s room is pretty dim since he’d been getting ready to go to bed, so it’s easy to watch the way Alastor’s eyes slowly brighten bit by bit until they’re almost hard to look at it. The red is vibrant, like freshly spilled blood, and makes Angel’s thighs fall that bit more apart.

“I’mma make a wild guess here and say yer pretty into that,” Angel says after a moment. He can see the way Alastor’s throat bobs when he swallows, and grins because of it. “Thought you weren’t interested in this kinda shit, Al?”

“I didn’t think I was either,” comes the faint response. Alastor clears his throat, his eyes dimming back to a normal level as he seems to gather control of himself. “I’ve never been interested in sex, but I’ve always loved the thrill of pulling someone apart piece by piece. It was never sexual, but I suppose learning that someone else might… _enjoy_ that is…appealing.”

Angel finally lets his robe fall open completely, the fabric slipping down his arms. His legs are spread, showing off the front of his panties, which he can feel are damp and sticking to his fur. “Wanna give it a go, big boy?”

Alastor coughs. “On the condition that you don’t _ever_ call me that again.”

That makes Angel laugh again. “Deal.”

“Excellent!” he says, then glances around the room. With Angel on board he seems to settle, nervousness fading away. “Now, this probably isn’t the best place for these particular activities.” With a wave of his hand, Alastor opens up a portal, yellow around the edges and black in the middle. Angel can’t see anything through it but he finds he trusts Alastor not to send him directly into a black hole. He hitches his bathrobe up with his elbows and stands, approaching. It’s not how he expected to spend his night, but fuck he’s not gonna complain about it. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.

“Pro’lly not. Don’t want anyone to come runnin’ when I start screamin’,” Angel says then grins sharply. “Also don’t wanna be cleanin’ blood out of my carpet for the next week.”

“Certainly not. After you, my dear,” Alastor replies, gesturing for Angel to proceed him through the portal. Angel being Angel, he can’t help but lean in for a quick kiss before he steps through, evidently surprising Alastor by the way he freezes up.

“We’re gonna have _so_ much fun,” Angel murmurs.

Travel via portal is really disorienting and it takes Angel a moment to catch his breath once he’s on the other side. He bends over at the waist, hands on his knees, and vaguely recognizes Alastor’s presence at his back as the other demon follows him through.

When Angel glances up he realizes he didn’t actually ask where they’d be going. The room around him is dim and he can’t figure out where the light is coming from. The floor is packed dirt, the walls wooden, like they’re underground. Chains hang from the ceiling in the middle of the room and off to the side is a table with a roll of butcher paper on it, next to an innocuous looking bag. The kind a doctor back in the twenties or thirties might carry on house visits.

All in all it’s not exactly where Angel fantasized about getting to bone Alastor. “Uh, not to be rude or nothin’ but…where the hell are we?”

Alastor’s grin is bright in the dimness. “Why, my basement of course! I’ve modeled it to look quite similar to the one I had when I was alive. I didn’t do all of my killing there, but it _is_ where I butchered the meat!”

A shiver runs down Angel’s spine despite himself. “Guess that makes me tonight’s meat.”

“It most certainly does, my dear,” Alastor promises, stepping over to the table. Angel watches as he carefully pulls off each glove, setting them aside, and then his jacket. The shirt underneath is white, the suspenders bright red. He rolls the sleeves up past his elbows with a slow precision that leaves Angel a little breathless. He can’t wait to have that attention to detail turned on his own body.

“Now, would you like to be up in the chains tonight, or would you perhaps like the tentacles?”

Angel considers the question seriously, glancing over at the chains. They glint dully in the light, old enough that the metal has gone dark, but well taken care of and rust-free. Still, he’s been fantasizing about those tentacles for too damn long to let the offer go by. Who knows if Alastor will want to do this again after tonight?

“Tentacles,” he says decisively, which makes Alastor’s grin stretch wider.

“Of course, _mon cheri_.” With a snap of his fingers another portal opens and a writhing mess of black tentacles slither out of it. “Though I will say if you were hoping for a fulfillment of your kink, you’re going to be severely disappointed. I will not be fucking you with them.” Hearing Alastor curse in tandem with a thick tentacle wrapping around Angel’s ankle has him moaning without meaning to. Alastor just grins and twitches his fingers, the tentacle jerking Angel’s leg out from underneath him and sending him crashing down. He lands hard, head smacking against the floor with an audible _crack_. “I’m afraid the only thing they’re good for is brutality. But then, I doubt that will be much of a turn off for you.”

The tentacle drags Angel across the floor, only to be joined by another and then another, crawling up his limbs and grabbing him tightly until they can pick him up entirely, suspending him in the air in front of Alastor. The other demon watches on passively, eyes gone black as he uses his power.

Angel is panting by the time the tentacles begin to rip his clothes off his body. He’d complain because that bathrobe was fuckin’ _expensive,_ asshole! But he’s too keyed up already and can only whine when what’s left of his panties hit the floor.

“Hmm,” Alastor says, stepping closer to examine Angel. His gaze is inquisitive, not lustful, but Angel still shivers. “Not the parts I was expecting you to have,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush one finger along Angel’s pubic mound.

Angel huffs a laugh as best he can, his arms already starting to get delightfully sore from being held spread-eagle like this. “I can change it if ya want. Neat little trick, real useful in my line a work.”

But Alastor just shrugs. “I can’t say that I particularly care one way or another, _mon cheri_.” When Angel doesn’t seem to care either he drifts back towards his table and opens the bag on it. “Now, what shall we start with, hm? Oh, I know!” He pulls a cleaver from the bag, huge and wickedly sharp even in the dim light and Angel’s stomach thrills with excitement.

“Watcha gonna’ do with that?” he asks breathlessly, squirming in the tentacles’ grasp. They certainly make for interesting binding, constantly moving, a few occasionally rubbing up against his body in unexpected places. Their surfaces aren’t quite scaly but they’re not slick either, dry and rough like a fine sandpaper. And _strong_ too, all coiled muscle.

Alastor approaches with his cleaver, spinning it between his hands with a joyful little burst of jazz music. “I think I’ll rid you of those extra limbs first. I need a few to restrain you properly, but no more than the usual four!”

“Could probably get away with even less than that,” Angel offers, biting his lip.

“Perhaps,” is all Alastor says in response. He runs one grey hand down Angel’s lower right arm until he hits the shoulder joint, and Angel realizes it’s the first time Alastor’s ever touched him properly, no gloves in the way. “Hold still now, darling.”

One tentacle moves to brace against the back of Angel’s shoulder, providing support for Alastor to make a clean cut. His knife flashes when he raises it, then again when he brings it down in a perfect arc. Pain bursts through Angel, sharp and wonderful, and his spine arches as he cries out.

The sensation of being suddenly cut off from a part your body that you’d _just_ been getting sensory input from is very strange. Angel watches through narrow eyes as Alastor pulls the severed arm from his body and considers it calmly.

“There isn’t very much meat on you, is there?” he asks, casually tossing the limb aside. “I was planning to save a few bits from you to savor later, but it looks like I might be lucky to get a single cut of meat.”

“You’re awful lucky I’m into freaky shit,” Angel tells him breathlessly. “’Cause you definitely didn’t mention any cannibal stuff when I agreed to this.” Alastor just smiles and moves to cut off the other arm, making Angel arch and cry out again.

“Be a dear and bring your other set out for me?” Alastor asks. And obviously Angel does so, even if the movement pulls at the wounds on either side of his body and makes him wince. There are tears already building in the corners of his eyes, and there’s a steady _drip, drip_ as his blood pools on on the concrete below him.

The second set of arms come off as easily as the first, tossed aside as useless. Angel’s tears have started flowing honestly by the time Alastor’s done, and the other demon makes a low cooing noise that Angel’s never heard before.

“There, there, sweetheart. It’ll only get worse from here.”

Angel chokes on a laugh. Every twitch of his body irritates the severed sockets, the kind of sharp ache he wants to push on just to make it worse. “Promise?” he asks through the tears.

Alastor reaches up with one bare hand, brushing against the wet fur along Angel’s cheek. “I promise. Would you like to choose what’s next?”

“Nah, surprise me.”

“Of course.” His hand trails down Angel’s face to his throat, squeezing briefly, a tease. Angel throws his head back to give him more room to work but he steps away again. A whine rises in the back of Angel’s throat but he tamps down on it for now; no need to get too worked up so early in the game.

Alastor sets his cleaver aside on the table and digs through his bag for something else with one hand. The other he holds out palm up, fingers twitching around a black mass of magic. All the tentacles holding Angel respond enthusiastically, winching his limbs further apart until his joints scream from the tension. Several more slide along his body until they find the bloody shoulder sockets on either side of his torso. He screams when one plunges straight into him, grasping what’s left of the ruined joint and yanking it clean out of him. The tentacle tosses the mess of bone and tendon aside and goes back to pushing into him. Several others circle the other three wounds, pressing against them teasingly and making Angel squirm in his bindings with pain.

He can feel how tacky and soaked the fur between his thighs is as he gets wetter and wetter. By the time Alastor is back he’s starting to feel almost desperate. “Al,” he says, then moans when he sees the knife in Alastor’s hand. This one looks more similar to a scalpel than anything he’s seen in a kitchen; small and wickedly sharp. “Oh shit.”

Alastor flicks the magic away from his fingers casually and the tentacles retreat. The one that had been inside Angel pulls out with a wet, obscene sound, dripping blood in its wake.

“I think I’m going to cut you open now, darling,” Alastor says casually, stepping close enough that Angel can feel the heat rolling off his body. His eyes are glowing and though he’s always smiling, Angel’s not sure he’s ever seen the other demon quite this content or happy before. “But I also think you should beg me for it first.” He brings the small knife up, pressing it just under Angel’s jaw so that it sinks into the sensitive flesh there.

Angel lets out a shaky breath. His core feels molten hot, pussy clenching on nothing and more slick sliding down his legs. “Please,” he tries, sniffing back more tears.

Alastor cocks his head to the side and pushes the knife up more harshly so that it sinks in a half inch. “You’re going to have to do better than that, I’m afraid.” His voice drops suddenly, eyes flashing with inky blackness, “ _Beg, Angel_.”

Angel’s pretty sure that if he had _any_ stimulation he would have come right then and there. He whines, trying to push down onto the blade, but Alastor’s hand grabbing him where jaw meets throat keeps him in place. “Please, Alastor,” he says. “Cut me open, rip me to fuckin’ pieces, c’mon baby, you know you want to.” The last few words fade into a high pitched noise, garbled and desperate, as Alastor pushes the knife up so that it pierces the floor of Angel’s mouth. Blood wells instantly, sharp and metallic and Angel can’t help running his tongue over the tapered point of the knife, cutting it shallowly.

“Very good,” Alastor praises him lowly. His eyes are still dark, pupils twitching like the dial on a radio. He yanks the knife out quickly, blood splattering the previously white fur along Angel’s throat and clavicle. Angel moans in protest at the loss, but then his breath hitches a moment later when that knife tip presses to his shoulder. “I’m going to dissect you now. If you’re _very_ good I might pick an organ or two to cook for you with later.”

While Angel is fairly used to the gore stuff, having served more than few sick fucks during his time, he can admit the cannibalism is new. It doesn’t turn him off though. In fact, the idea of of Alastor feeding him a _foie gras_ made from Angel’s own liver after all of this is done makes him even hotter.

Alastor makes one deep cut from Angel’s shoulder down to his sternum. He does the same thing from the other shoulder, then drags his knife down from where the two lines meet to Angel’s hips. Blood runs freely from the wounds, matting Angel’s fur and staining it bright red. His pink spots are lost entirely under the lurid color.

Once the Y-incision has been made, Alastor begins carefully detaching the muscle and soft tissue of each flap so that they can be folded back. Angel squirms and cries through all of it, alternating between pained screams and pleasured moans. There’s so much blood running down his body that it’s mixing with the slick on his thighs until the fur there is almost pink.

Alastor seems to be having the time of his life, humming to a static-y jazz song disrupting the air around his body. Every time he meets Angel’s gaze he blows the spider a kiss or winks at him, and god Angel’s never seen anything hotter than Alastor with blood splatters all over that neat white button down of his. It’s on his face, coating his hands and running down his arms, and Angel desperately wants to kiss him.

Alastor has several of the tentacles pull the flaps of Angel’s flesh back to reveal his innards. And of course Angel looks down, entranced by the sight of his own workings, the yellow of his ribs and the fleshy blue, pink, brown of organs.

“Hm, where to start?” Alastor hums to himself, trailing the tip of his knife from organ to organ. With an easy flick of his fingers, he turns the knife around and then jams the handle into what Angel is assuming is his stomach. Instantly bile rises up the back of his throat, and with his strength waxed Angel can’t fight the way it bubbles out of his mouth. He coughs and gags on it, suddenly glad he hasn’t had anything to eat in a while.

“Ha! I learned that neat little party trick the hard way with my first victim,” Alastor says conversationally. “Took me ages to get the stench of vomit out of my basement.”

Angel just spits bile and blood out of his mouth in response.

If Alastor finds it rude, he doesn't say so. Just uses the blunt end of his knife to push and move Angel’s insides around until he can reach inside. And while there are certainly less nerves this far within him, Angel can still feel the way he’s rooting around, wrist deep.

“How much blood do you have to lose before you pass out, darling?” Alastor asks, making direct eye contact as he _yanks_ suddenly. Something small and fleshy detaches partially from Angel’s body and what Alastor can’t simply pull out he severs with his blade.

“Dunno,” Angel murmurs in response. His throat still stings from the bile and his entire body aches horribly, just one giant, throbbing wound. He ran out of tears to cry some ten minutes back but it’s still hard to speak around all that pain. “Guess we’ll fin’ out?”

“That we will,” Alastor promises with a vicious grin. He briefly goes back to his table to wrap up whatever he’d pulled out of Angel and returns a moment later. This goes on for a few minutes, Alastor picking and choosing organs at will, occasionally cutting them out to examine them up close before tossing them aside as unsatisfactory. It actually makes Angel laugh when his liver doesn’t even get glanced at.

“I don’t drink _that_ much,” he protests weakly.

Alastor gives him a patient but withering look and doesn’t respond.

By the time he’s done they’re both soaked in blood and viscera and Angel is feeling decidedly lightheaded. His heart is fluttering visibly, unable to keep up with how much blood he’s losing, and half of his thoracic cavity is empty. He knows he’s not going to last much longer, but there’s still one more thing he needs.

“Al,” he says, voice coming out strained. His head is lolling on his shoulders, too heavy to really lift.

Alastor glances back from where he’s wrapping up the last of his chosen meat. “Yes, dear?”

“Will ya fuck me?”

The other demon turns towards him, his expression considering. When he steps close he has the tentacles lower Angel so that they’re eye to eye. “I suppose you’ve been awfully good for me today, indulging me so,” Alastor muses, reaching up with one bloody hand to caress Angel’s face. Angel leans into it eagerly, trying to flutter his damp lashes. “And seeing you so aroused by your own torture has been…enlightening.” His opposite hand undoes the zipper on the front of his slacks, and Angel can’t take his eyes off the action. “I imagine I could indulge you in turn.”

Angel moans when Alastor pulls himself through the front of his pants. He doesn’t bother removing any of his clothing, and his cock isn’t even hard, but Angel doesn’t care. It’s gray like the rest of him but, like most demons, not completely human. Alator strokes himself with a bloody hand, coating his dick in red and making Angel’s mouth water. Hard, the base is fairly normal but it bulges obscenely thick in the middle, before tapering into a thick, fat tip. It’s veiny and beautiful and Angel wants it inside himself _right the fuck now_.

“Hush, now,” Alastor murmurs, and Angel realizes abruptly he’s been whining. He fights the noises back, even as Alastor steps close, running bloody hands down Angel’s even bloodier thighs. Magic crackles along Angel’s skin and fur. The tentacles adjust Angel so that Alastor can take himself in hand and press into the spider demon.

If Angel were capable of it he’d toss his head back in pleasure, but all he manages is a shaky moan. Alastor is huge and thick and slides into his pussy with absolutely no resistance. Alastor’s eyes flutter and a soft noise escapes his throat that Angel’s never heard before, and warmth swells up in what’s left of Angel’s chest. _He_ made Alastor feel like that, made him feel good. As good as Alastor is making him feel in turn.

“Fuck, yer big,” Angel murmurs, which makes Alastor snort, his eyes coming open again.

“And you’re tight,” he counters, his hips rocking gently. He digs his fingers into Angel’s hips, claws scoring the flesh there, before one trails up to the edge of the Y-incision. “Do you think-”

Alastor doesn’t finish his sentence, just presses into what’s left of Angel’s guts, making Angel cry out. And Angel already knows what he’s doing so he presses his hips up, trying to make the task easier. Eventually Alastor manages to clear enough viscera and entrails out of the way that his dick is visibly moving within Angel. It stretches Angel out, bulging the flesh of his vagina, and Alastor wraps a hand around that bulge.

“Al,” Angel moans, straining at his bindings weakly as the urge to wrap his arms around the other demon hits him. “Alastor. Feel so good.”

Alastor thrusts into the combined pressure of his own hand and Angel’s pussy, his eyes growing brighter and brighter with each movement. The edges of his smile are more brittle now, and his teeth are unclenched as he pants. “Angel, darling,” he says, his voice echoing strangely, like turning several radios to the same station, but each is receiving the signal out of tune with the others. “You’re so beautiful like this. I’ve never…” He trails off, but only so that he can lean up and kiss Angel soundly.

Angel responds enthusiastically and again laments the fact that he can’t run his fingers through all that hair or scratch at Alastor’s back and shoulders. Give back some of what he’s getting.

When Alastor pulls away it’s so he can fit his free hand, the one not still in Angel’s guts, around Angel’s throat. “I’m going to finish this now, _mon ami_ ,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to catch a drip of blood off of Angel’s lower lip.

“Please,” Angel says softly, and it’s the last air he gets as that hand tightens around his throat. It cuts off his supply entirely and all he can do is lay there and take it, slowly suffocating while Alastor takes his pleasure with his ruined body. He comes just before he passes out, pulsing around Alastor’s cock while black dots obscure his vision. The last thing he sees is Alastor’s expression of pleasure, those luminous red eyes set in a face splattered with Angel’s blood, his white shirt now completely ruined with it. Radio static crackles around Alastor and Angel swears he feels it in his very bones just before he loses consciousness entirely.

oOo

Coming to in an unfamiliar bed isn’t particularly new for Angel Dust. What _is_ new is the scent of dark earth and decaying wood wrapped all around him in the bedding. It brings to mind sharp teeth and black antlers, a predator in prey’s clothing, long before he actually connects it to Alastor himself.

With a faint groan, Angel rolls over in the bed and winces. He feels like he’s been run over a few dozen times, and then stuck in a blender for good measure. Which, there’s a good reason for that, but still. When he lifts the blanket off his body, he’s pleased to find himself expertly bandaged up. His arms haven’t grown back in yet, but those will take a little longer to regenerate. First and foremost will be all the ‘essential’ organs.

At least Alastor knows about aftercare in these kinds of situations. Angel had been so excited to be brutalized by him that he’d completely forgotten about that particular conversation.

The sound of a door opening draws Angel’s attention and he cranes his head to see Alastor entering across the room. He’s got what looks like a small breakfast tray in hand, and his smile brightens considerably when he sees Angel.

“Ah, darling, you’re awake!” he says, bustling up to the bed and quickly setting out the tray on the mattress. It has two plates and a glass of what looks like orange juice on it, and the smell alone makes Angel’s mouth water. “You’re looking well. I was worried when you didn’t wake up after the first day, but I suppose being eviscerated will do that to a person.”

Angel can’t help but huff a laugh. “Yeah, you can say that again. As fun as it was, that shit ain’t no easy thing to heal. Is that for me?”

“It most certainly is! I wasn’t sure if you’d be up to eating yet though. I seem to recall removing your stomach entirely.”

“Considerin’ I can feel it growlin’, I think we’re in the clear,” Angel tells him, and tries to push himself up into a sitting position. It sparks a deep ache all through his body and he groans, about to give up, when Alastor leans over to help him. He even fluffs a pillow and sticks that behind his back. Angel can only grin.

“Look’t you. Who woulda thunk you’d be the cuddly type?”

Amazingly, Alastor coughs a little as if he’s embarrassed. “Yes, well, considering the state I left you in…it’s only the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“An’ cookin’ me breakfast? That’s gentlemanly too?” Angel asks, attempting to copy Alastor’s accent on the word gentleman.

“It most certainly is! Now eat, before it gets cold.” The tray is set gently into Angel’s lap, and Alastor perches himself on the edge of the bed where it had previously sat. “The sausage is your own, just so you’re aware.”

Angel glances down at the plates; one has a fluffy pile of scrambled eggs and a serving of hash browns, the other two large, juicy looking sausage links. “You made these outta me?” he asks, curiously grabbing up the fork and stabbing at one.

“I most certainly did! The seasoning is an old family recipe as well,” Alastor tells him cheerily.

Angel considers the meat for a moment, deciding if he’s actually going to eat a piece of himself that’s been ground up and cooked. After a moment he shrugs and brings it up to his mouth to bite a piece off. He’s done weirder shit. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet like maple but with a hint of spice and earthiness. He can’t help but moan a little, chewing that bite quickly so he can take another. “Al, this is so fuckin’ good! I had no idea you could cook like this.”

Alastor positively beams at him. When Angel looks closely he can see that the other demon is blushing just a little, a red hue barely tinting the gray of his skin. The more Angel looks, the more he realizes how unusual this is. Alastor is dressed down again; slacks, shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and suspenders. He’s not even wearing his boots with the hooves on the bottom, just black socks. Like a man cooking a Sunday breakfast in the privacy of his own home. His hands are bare again too, and though they look perfectly clean Angel can’t help but remember what they had looked like covered in his blood.

Angel swallows the last of the sausage and sets his fork down. The rest of the meal looks great and he’s not going to let it go to waste, but first… “If I didn’t know any better, Smiles, I’d think you were feelin’ soft on me,” he says. “Patchin’ me up, makin’ me breakfast in bed, comin’ in here lookin’ all soft and warm like that.”

Alastor ducks his head, one hand rubbing at the back of his head. “Now, my dear, no need to go making assumptions!” he says, but Angel can hear the faint strain in his voice.

Angel just smirks and reaches out to lift Alastor’s face by his chin. Careful of the plate still in his lap, he leans in close.

“Thanks, Alastor. For everything,” he murmurs into the space between them, and then closes in for a brief, chaste kiss. He sits back afterwards, like nothing happened, and excitedly goes back to his meal because _fuck_ can this demon cook!

Alastor sits beside him, seemingly at a loss for words, for a long moment. Then he clears his throat and asks about how Angel’s feeling, his injuries, and they go from that into a conversation about his cooking abilities, which leads into a heartfelt tangent by both of them about the proper amount of seasoning in food.

And though he might still be missing half the entrails in his body still, Angel’s never felt warmer. 

**Author's Note:**

> if youre interested come hmu on [tumblr](https://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)


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